


Closeted Comfort

by soccer



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - Closet, F/F, TW Mentions of Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 07:57:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4471430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soccer/pseuds/soccer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carmilla and Laura get trapped in a closet in the middle of the night. But it's not as bad as one might think.<br/>Both Carm and Laura are basket cases, just go with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closeted Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy it. I've been working on it for a while now. A one-shot for now, but I have an idea for a second chapter if I have time.

God, when will you learn not to drink three cans of grape soda before going to bed? Even though you went to the bathroom right before curfew (almost arriving late to your room), you still pad down the hallway in the middle of the night. Usually, you can wait till morning, but not tonight.

            While it wasn’t necessarily forbidden to go to the bathroom between the hours of 11:00pm and 5:30am, it was highly suspicious to any teacher patrolling the hallways. You’ve heard stories of some students who were taken to the Dean’s office for getting water or going to the bathroom… well, not firsthand, but your roommate, LaF, told you, and they seem pretty reliable.

They said it depended on which teacher was patrolling. If it was Mr. Heningsgard or Ms. Schlink, you were screwed, but if it was Mr. Best (you still are surprised that is his real name) or Mrs. Clay, you were in the clear. Though most of the teachers like you, you’d rather not take any chances.

You curse your squeaky slippers quietly in your head. You’re breathing too loudly. Have you always been so heavy footed? You shake your head to clear away your thoughts, as if they too could be too loud. Everything sounds loud when you are supposed to be quiet, you guess.

You stumble slightly over your feet in the mostly dark hallway. The only light comes from the windows that are every few feet. This school seems to love its windows. Every classroom has a wall of windows facing outside. You’ve always appreciated natural lighting as opposed to lightbulbs. And you are currently very grateful since being the scaredy cat that you are, you decided not to bring a flashlight of any kind in fear of it being seen by a teacher. Technically, you have your phone in your pocket, not that you are even thinking about using it. Like you said, scaredy cat.

The full moon shines through the large windows, bathing the entire hall in silvery light. Maneuvering through the hall is a breeze. Though, you aren’t a big fan of the picture frames lining the hall in the space between the windows. Their eyes seem to be following your every move.

You are extremely thankful when you finally reach the bathrooms, both to relieve the pressure on your bladder and to be out of that semi-creepy hallway (you ascertain that, like everything being louder in the dark, everything is creepier in the dark). You close the door behind you before turning on the light. Paranoid should be your middle name.

The harsh florescent lights sting your eyes. You squint your eyes as you make your way to a stall. You fumble with the latch for a moment, sleep still making your movements sluggish.

The bathrooms aren’t too terrible, especially being a community shower type thing. The whiteness of the walls bothers you, not only because it hurts yours eyes, but because it makes you feel like you have to pretend that you are immaculate, like the walls.

Your eyes have adjusted to the light by the time you're washing your hands. The water is cold and harsh against your skin. It feels sterilizing.

You shake your head against unwanted thoughts again as you reach for some fancy, thick paper towels. This school is nice, it really is, but it makes you feel like something you're not. You also know the reason you are here. It makes you want to be mad at your father, maybe even your mother, but you can't bring yourself to it. After all, it’s your fault.

You flip off the light. Just when you got used to it, you become incased in darkness. You quickly slip out into the hallway. It is lighter out there so your eyes adjust to the semidarkness better. However, you still need to take a moment for your eyes adjust to the point where you feel comfortable walking down the hallway without stumbling into something like one of the randomly placed potted plants or decorative, small tables.

After a moment you start to walk back in the direction of your room. You pad quietly, but soon you hear fast thumps coming from behind you. Stopping in the light of a window, you turn around to look for the source of the sound. Unfortunately, stopping in the middle of the hallway backfired. You see the dark haired girl far too late. She crashes into you while running pretty fast. You both fall to the floor in a heap of tangled legs and arms. The wind is knocked out of you and out of your “attacker” as well.

“Fuck, who the hell is up this late at night?” the girl groans in an annoyed voice while rubbing her head where it knocked against your shoulder.

“Says the one running through the hallways,” you bite back, a bit annoyed that this girl is implying the blame is on you.

“You would be running too if Schlink was chasing you.” You freeze. Of all the nights to venture out of your room, Ms. Schlink had to be patrolling. Heels clicking on the ground echoes around the hallway, causing the girl to scramble up. She quickly looks around, probably for a place to hide. Her eyes settle on a door that is propped open by a door stop a couple of yards away.

“Come on, cutie, don’t want to get caught do ya?” she teases slightly, holding out her hand for yours.

“I am not sure what you were doing, something elicit I’m sure, but I was just going to the bathroom,” you point out. Why else would she be out this late at night running away from a teacher?

“I don’t think she will be in a listening mood, buttercup. She doesn’t exactly know who she is chasing.” She flashes a cheeky grin, wiggling her fingers at you. You look at her in disbelief.

The clicking gets louder, it’s coming from around the corner from the bathrooms. Your eyes widen and you clamber to grab the girl’s hand. She pulls you up and drags you towards the slightly ajar door.

You want to point out that your dorm room is only about thirty feet away, but the heels echo in your head and you realize that you would never make it. Maybe if you didn’t hesitate… No use in dwelling on the past (though you're not too good at _that_ ).

Her hand remains wrapped in yours as she opens the door with her other hand. You trip over the door stop, kicking it further into what looks like a janitor’s closet in the fading light. Wait, fading light. You whip around to watch the door close, pulling on the girl’s arm roughly. She whines in protest. If you weren’t worrying about the possibility of getting caught and getting in trouble, you would have thought that was the cutest and sexiest noises in the world.

“Ow cupcake, what’s with all the pulling?” the girl asks, releasing your hand to rub her shoulder.

“Sorry,” you whispers, somewhat missing the contact of the other girl’s hand.

The girl ignores the apology and brushes past you in the dark towards the door. The room is quiet for a moment. The only thing that can be heard is the sound of breathing. The door doesn’t open, so you wonder what she is doing. After a few moments, her voice calls through the darkness.

“Coast is clear,” she announces joyfully. You realize she was listening for the teacher in the hallway.

“Good, let’s get out of here.”

The door handle is wiggled, but the door remains closed. The girl curses.

“Umm, what seems to be the problem?”

“The door appears to be locked, Lois Lane.” Your eyes widen and your mouth hangs open. Trapped in this room, with a girl you just met all because you couldn’t hold it. You rush to the door, stepping on her foot in the dark. She grunts in pain.

“Why do you keep hurting me,” she complains, but you just ignore her.

Your hand grasps the cold metal of the handle. You pull harshly, attempting to twist the handle that won't budge. The door jerks slightly back and forth on its hinges, creating a banging noise. Hands come to rest on your shoulder, and pull you back further into the room. You struggle for a moment, before falling into/onto the other girl.

“It’s no use, cutie. The door is locked. We will just have to wait until someone comes to open the door,” she says casually. How can anyone be calm at a time like this?

“But won't we get into trouble when they find us?” you point out.

“Ya, but it’s not a big deal. At least I tried.” There is that nonchalant tone again. If only she could see the disbelief on your face.

“Maybe not to you,” you mumble. You feel her stiffen against your body. She pushes harshly away from you and you stumble forward.

“Hey, what was that for?!” you protest.

“Don’t pretend like you know me, you don’t,” she snaps.

“Whatever,” you grumble. You can feel her grumpy attitude getting to you. “Let’s just find a light or something.”

Fortunately, or unfortunately, the room is small. That makes finding a light switch easy. It is placed about two feet left of the door, a little far in your opinion. You only bump into your companion twice. Once the room is lit, you are able to get a good look at the girl.

She brushes her hand through her bangs, sweeping them out of her pale face. Thankfully, she is only slightly taller than you, so you are able to look into her deep brown eyes with ease. You kind of wish for the darkness again because you can feel a blush spread over your face.

It isn't a secret that you prefer females over males. You’ve known since middle school that girls were way cuter than boys. They got your heart racing. So, being in a tight space with undoubtedly one of the most attractive girls you have ever had the privilege of laying eyes on does not help you regulate normal bodily functions, like breathing or maintaining a stable heartrate.

The girl gives you a strange look, mixed between amusement and expectancy. You blink in confusion and shake your heads of unnecessary thoughts like kissing her. Eventually you realize that she said something to you when she prompts you for an answer.

“Huh?” you stumble out. She barks out a laugh.

“I told you to take a picture, it would last longer. I knew I was stunning, I just didn’t know how paralyzing to the lesser I’ve become.” She laughs again. It takes you a moment to realize that she is laughing at you.

“The sudden light just blinded me, that’s all,” you attempt to defend. This only causes her laughter to grow louder. You squint at her in annoyance and huff in her general direction.

“That bunched up face is adorable, buttercup.” You roll your eyes and lean against the door. And to think, you thought this jerk of a girl was attractive. Curse you and your weakness for attractive females. Eventually her laughter dies down.

“Thanks, princess. It’s been a while since I had such a good laugh.”

You sink down to the floor, attempting to ignore her and attempting to look cool. However, fate would have it that you hit your foot on a broom causing it to fall and hit you on the head which then causes you to stumble and fall to the floor.

“Ow…” you squeak out once you’ve settled on the ground. You hear snickering from the other side of the room. You look up from the ground to glare at the source of the voice. The girl is at least attempting to contain her laughter, but your glare seems to tip her over the edge into full blown laughter. You wonder how is it that no teacher, or student for that matter, has heard her.

A dull pain aches in your hip. You realize that something stabbed you in the hip on the way down. You reach for whatever it was, still pushing into you. Though it is under your pants, your hand closes around a rectangular object. You gasp excitedly. The girl shoots you a confused look mixed with ‘you’ve got two heads’ look. You pull the hard plastic that is your phone from your pajama pants pocket.

“So now you mention you have a phone, cutie,” she exasperates.

“I kinda forgot about it between you running me over and dragging me to a closet,” you say bitterly. She just shrugs in response. “I will call my roommate, and when they wake up, they will come to rescue us.” Another noncommittal shrug.

“Whatever you say, creampuff.”

“Ugh, enough with the nicknames. I have a name you know,” you seethe.

“I know,” she responds after a semi-awkward moment of silence, idly checking her nails, maybe for a chip in the black nail polish. She doesn’t speak any further. You sigh and give in.

“Would you _care_ to know it?” you ask with a roll of your eyes at her childish attitude.

“I know it,” she says simply. You look at her questioningly, not remember mentioning it. “Laura.” You shiver at the way your name rolls of her tongue, the way she draws out the L, the way she breathes out the last A.

“How?”

“You are a new transfer student. We don’t get many of those. And I do have ways of finding out who people are.” She pauses for a moment, a look of uncertainty passes over her features before she opens her mouth to continue. “Plus I’ve seen you around, or whatever.”

She scratches the back of her head, eyes looking everywhere, but you. You think you see a small blush paints her features, but you aren’t sure since the harsh florescent lighting is washing everything in a weird white light. The red could be coming from her slightly large, but still totally attractive, t-shirt that reads “You read my t-shirt, that’s enough social interaction for one day”. You shrug internally at the thought. She doesn’t seem like the blushing type.

_Not that you should judge people by how they look._ You mentally chastise yourself.

“Mind telling me your name or should I keep calling you “that girl” in my head?”

“So, you're thinking about me, huh cutie?” She smirks at you. You scoff at her. She feigns a slightly hurt look, before the corners of her mouth twitch up, returning her lips into a smirk.

“Yes, now tell me so when I get out of here, I know who will be haunting my dreams.”

“Oh, so now you're going to be dreaming of me. How cute,” she teases. You can't win with this girl. Maybe it is the slight smell of bleach getting to you, but you are actually enjoying your little banter with this mystery girl. Though she looks vaguely familiar. The more you look at her, the more you think you’ve seen her before.

“For the love of everything that is good, or bad, or whatever works for you, What. Is. Your. Name?”

“That’s no fun, now is it, creampuff?” her voice drips of innocence that you know is a mask. The way her lips curl in to a Cheshire grin only enforces that thought. She is messing with you. You're bored enough, so you decide to play along.

“Vampira?” you say in a stoic tone, a blank looking covering your features (you can't have her think you are actually playing along, that’s part of the game). Her pale skin, dark hair, and beauty makes her look akin to the famous vampire. Her head tilts back as she barks out a laugh that causes you to crack a grin, breaking your apathetic mask. You quickly recover before she turns her attention back to you. You raise your eye brow at her, an unspoken question to her outburst. All part of the game

“You're pretty funny. Who knew behind all those nerdy references, there was someone actually worth talking to?”

“Uh, excuse you. I am amazing to talk to, nerdy references included. I mean, you don’t know the first thing about me. Now who is the one to judge?” Your voice progressively got louder and higher pitched as you continued. Your eyes remain fixated on the floor so you don’t notice her smiling at you, not her usual smirk, but an actual smile, until you are done with your mini rant when you glance up to judge her reaction. Her eyes shine with amusement and something else, something soft. You look away in embarrassment, but you’re exactly sure why.

“So what were you doing before you ran into me?” you start in an effort to get her to stop staring at you. It works…

“I don’t think we know each other well enough for that.” She returns to her now-trademark smirk.

“You're right; I still don’t know your name,” you drawl in attempt for her to cave. She gives you one last smirking look, before glancing at the ceiling and taking a deep breath. Who knew that giving someone your name was such a religious experience? You sure didn’t.

“Carmilla,” she reveals, still looking up at the ceiling. Carmilla? You’ve heard that name before. You think LaF might have mentioned it or maybe she was announced at an award ceremony (this school loves its ceremonies), but she doesn’t seem like the type of person who would participate in anything team related or be a “servant leader” for the school. (Not that you are supposed to be judging her.) She finally tears her eyes from the ceiling, locking hers with yours. “It’s Carmilla Karnstein.”

Now you know you’ve heard that name before. But you were right; it wasn’t from some award ceremony. Though you have heard LaF talk about this particular girl, it’s not exactly how you know this name. The Dean, she is the dean’s daughter. Of course, you should have remembered that. The Dean always makes her sit in the front row, directly in the middle for any type of assembly stuff, and makes Carmilla sit next to her at all the gala dinners.

You haven’t been to this school long, but you know they do love useless and frivolous “bonding activities” as the school likes to call them. Basically they are required to attend dinners and dances and such to “build a stronger community”.

So, you’ve seen Carmilla around at all of these events, usually sitting in silence while the Dean talks to teachers and donors and other important, stuffy looking people. You have a feeling that Carmilla could socialize with the other students if she wanted to, but her movements would be monitored.

“I figured you would know who I was when I told you my name. I’m not exactly invisible at this school,” she says bitterly. Recognition must have appeared on your face. You curse internally at yourself for your lack of poker face. “I’m guessing that you’ve also heard to stay away from me. That I’m ‘bad news’.” Her use of air quotes is surprisingly cute.

You have heard a lot about her, not only from LaF- _stay away from her, she is only up to no good_ -, but also their girlfriend Perry- _I don’t really know her, but she does seem like the type of person who would cause mischief and break the rules_ \- not to mention the rumors flying around the school about her special study buddies where they study more of each other than of actual school work or the fact that she could get away with anything because she is the Dean’s daughter.

You notice that she is staring at you with a mixture of anger and, somewhere deep in those chocolate eyes, fear. She looks away the moment you catch her eyes, looking to the floor which has become more interesting, scuffing her converse on it.

You sit on the floor in confusion, phone still clutched in your hand, but momentarily forgotten. It might make sense for her to feel anger because she is the Dean’s daughter so people expect more from her, but you don’t understand the fear and uncertainty etched into her features.

It doesn’t take you long, maybe twenty seconds, to realize that maybe that is the reason she is fearful. Probably no one treats her like a regular student, or even classmate. You’ve heard rumors that she could get out of any punishment because her mom is the Dean, so of course other students wouldn’t like her.

Looking back on your few months here, you realize that you have noticed her around, usually in the library, but always with a book in her hand no matter her location. You think she is a couple of your classes, but if she is, she always sits in the back so you barely notice her. You’ve been caught up with trying to keep up with school and get accustomed to a new school, a boarding school, that you’ve barely noticed anyone besides LaF, their girlfriend Perry, Danny, who has helped you in your English class (not your greatest subject), and Kirsch, Danny’s frenemy possibly more??, so you haven’t had a chance to socialize with the greater population.

She reluctantly told you because she was afraid that you too would treat her differently. It totally makes sense. As an only child, you understand having to live up to expectations that aren’t your own. Pity rushes through your system, but you try to shake it. Pity is probably the last thing she wants from you.

You hear a nervous cough from the other side of the room drawing your attention away from your thoughts. You glance up from your phone to look at the uncertain girl in front of you. All anger gone from her features, replaced in full with sadness, fear, and a bit of confusion, probably as to why you haven’t looked at her with disgust or hatred or fear as you’ve seen so many students and teachers alike look at her because of who her mother is. Though you didn’t recognize her at first, every moment in your memory that contains her floods back to you, the good and the bad:

Last week when she sat alone during lunch at a table under a tree reading

During class Tuesday, when the tests were being handed back in History, Carmilla earned a 100, but while she was in the bathroom, the rest of the class whispered that she only got that grade was because of who her mother was. Though you didn’t know much about the girl at the time, it seemed ridiculous to think that parentage earned someone a grade

Her getting into a fight with a student who asked about a girl, Ellen or something, and “her current whereabouts”

In the library, when you dropped your books and some girl helped you picked them up. You didn’t know too many people at the time, so you didn’t recognize her, but looking back, that was Carmilla

Her making out with pretty much every hot girl the school had to offer, and lucky for you both, there is a lot

 

Your once sleep clouded mind, one that did not know this girl in front of you, is now assaulting you with memories. Though you may be biased given your own circumstances, you see no reason to dislike this girl in front of you. She is sassy, unconventional when it comes to relationships, short tempered, and acts like she is above it all, but doesn’t everyone in high school act like that?

“Well, you already know my name, but… I’m Laura, Laura Hollis,” you speak in an even tone. She stares at you in shock, mouth gaping slightly open. You crack a smile at her bewildered state. “I’m going to attempt to call my roommate. Hopefully they will pick up, but probably not. They tend to sleep like a rock.” She nods numbly at you.

You quickly dial their number. It rings seven times before going to voicemail. You chuckle slightly at their recording, asking if the caller would be willing to be a test subject or if the caller had any unidentified substances they would be willing to give LaF for further testing.

“What’s funny? Did they answer?” Carmilla asks quickly. You shake your head once and wait for the beep at the end of the message.

“Hey LaF, it’s me… Laura. I’m sure you could gather that from my voice.” A small laugh slips from the other girl. You shush her, sending her a warning glare. She puts her hands up in surrender. “I’m kinda stuck in the janitor’s closet,” you continue. “And don’t say how ironic this is when you get me out. So when you get this message, please come get me out. It is the closet between our room and the bathrooms. It seems to be locked from the outside and we can't get out.” Carmilla clears her throat. “Oh ya, Carmilla is with me, so I’m not entirely alone.”

“Thanks so much for _that_ glowing compliment.”

“Hush. So, we would appreciate if you could get us out before it gets light. Ok, thanks, bye.” You hang up with a quiet sigh. “Now all we have to do is wait.”

You glance around the room, looking for anything that you could do while you wait. Your eyes linger on Carmilla for a moment. _Not exactly what I had in mind… Stop Laura, you barely know the girl._ But the thought does appeal to you. You continue your search of the room. Cleaning supplies line the shelves. Brooms, mops, and vacuums lean against wall spaces between shelving units. You groan in boredom and lean your head against the door, turning your eyes to the white ceiling and the florescent light.

You hear her shift from one foot to the other in hesitation, then shuffling of feet growing closer to you. Carmilla pauses next to you. You can see her in your peripheral vision; her bangs cover her face as she looks to the ground. You roll your head to look at her when she gently taps your shin with her shoe. She glances from the ground to your face.

“Do you mind if I sit with you?” she asks. You are marginally surprised. You’ve heard that she is more for taking than asking for permission, though you’ve never seen anyone hesitant to give her what she wants, whether out of fear or hatred. You nod with a small smile painted on your lips.

You scoot over to make room for her against the door. You have to kick a rolling trashcan to the side of the room to move far enough over. She lets out a chuckle at your action. You roll your eyes at her amusement. She leans against the door and slides down to the floor once you moved far enough over. It is a bit cramped against the wall, so your arm brushes against hers every so often and your calf is flushed against hers. She doesn’t seem to mind, so you decide not to either, though it sets your heart pacing a few beats faster than normal.

You stare blankly ahead for a few minutes. Sitting in silence, the room feels oddly eerie, especially with the hard white light beaming down into the room. It feels like a hospital room. You take comfort in Carmilla’s presence.

Eventually, you feel vibrations on the back of your head from the door. You jolt excitedly from your seat, thinking that LaF is on the other side of the door, attempting to break you free. It only takes a second to realize that the soft knocking is Carmilla’s head on the door. You look over at her in confusion.

Her eyes are closed softly, not squeezed shut as you imagine anyone who hits their head against a wall or door would be. Her loose curls shake back and forth from her movements. You take a moment to stare unabashedly. During school, her features look hard and sharp. She appears unapproachable.

_Maybe that’s the point._

Right now, sitting in a dingy janitor’s closet, she looks soft, though frustrated. She _is_ hitting her head on a door after all. But she’s beautiful. You don’t wonder for a moment why girls keep throwing themselves at Carmilla. You’ve never seen her actually date anyone, or hold hands with anyone, or really talk to anyone when she didn’t have to. So the girls she gets into “relationships” with know exactly what’s in store for them.

You don’t really know much about Carmilla, but you do know when someone is purposely trying to push others away. You have no idea why Carmilla does what she does, but you can theorize. Being the daughter of the Dean must put pressure on Carmilla to always be the perfect child, and her rebellious acts via flings with girls are the only thing that keeps her sane.

She might not know when someone is trying to be her friend or when someone is trying to get a friend who has access to higher places. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. People might not want to be friends with her, but being friends with her and hating her might be a better option than having her hate you. People fear power or people who have access to power. You could never tell who your friends are, kinda like being famous, always second guessing your relationships.

“You’re going to get a headache if you keep doing that,” you point out. She pauses her self-torture, but her eyes remained closed.

“It takes away the boredom,” she murmurs. You roll your eyes, but she can't see you so you're not sure what the point is.

“Or you could get us caught.”

“That option might be better than sitting here in this room any longer.”

“We’ve literally be sitting here for,” you glance down at your phone that is still in your hand (you're kinda hoping that LaF will wake up and call back soon, though you know that is a long shot), “twenty three minutes.”

“Feels like an eternity.” You hum in agreement. She cracks an eye and a smile in your direction. “Well, I guess little miss patience isn't so patient after all,” she remarks snidely.

“Who said I was the queen of patience?”

“I never said queen, cupcake.” You don’t like the way she draws out the word cupcake. You know she is making fun of you, but she doesn’t have to make is so obvious. “But ya, during class you sit working on actually work assigned by the teacher instead of goofing off and during the ‘mandatory community socials’,” you find her impersonation of her mother uncanny, slightly unnerving, but very funny, “you sit in silence most of the time and actually appear to be paying attention. Most of the student body, even some faculty, finds a way to sneak their phones in or make idle conversation to whomever they are sitting next to.” She looks at you expectantly, like she is waiting for you to deny her allegations. You decide to indulge her.

“Actually, I enjoy learning; so yes, I always pay attention during class and do my work. Plus, who wants to do school work later on, sooner rather than later is the way to go.”

“You could just not do it,” she suggests. You glare at her disapprovingly causing her to smirk at you for the umpteenth. Your eyes flicker to her red lips for a brief moment before returning to her eyes which caught you staring and now glint with playfulness.

“Also, those school wide functions are sooooooooo boring. During those things, I’m usually imagining what would happen if a giant marshmallow creature was to burst through the doors and devour the Dean..... No offense.” You give her a worried look, afraid you offended her by imagining her mother’s demise. But your worries are put to rest when she gives you an amused smile before laughing heartedly.

She continues to laugh for almost a minute. You're not really sure when, but you started to laugh along with her, leaning into her, you're heads coming to rest on each other. It must be the lack of sleep that causes you to laugh so freely with a girl you don’t really know.

She smells nice, like lemons and grapefruit. But, you might be imagining that. Cause how does one remember what anything smells like in this room at three in the morning? Plus you _are_ in a room filled with cleaning supplies. Whatever she smells like, she smells amazingly citrusy. You just want to curl into her, find comfort in her warmth, something you haven’t really done since your mom. Somehow, you did just that.

“Whoa there buttercup, don’t fall asleep on me.” She gently pushes you from her shoulder (when did you get there?), sitting you up straight. You are slightly concerned that you just crossed a line by almost falling asleep on her. “I need someone to keep me company while we sit in here.” Her playful smile warms your stomach.

“Aren't you tired?”

“Nah, not really.”

“Do you ever sleep?” you tease.

“Not really,” she deadpans. You shoot her a confused yet highly concerned look in her direction. Her face remains vacant for a few more seconds before breaking into an evil grin. “I am a vampire after all.”

She pretends to bare her fangs at you and leans in, acting like she is going to bite your neck. You squeal lightheartedly and try to back away from her advances, but are ultimately stopped by the door. She all but straddles you in attempt to get to your neck. You attempt to hold her back by putting your hands on her shoulders, but she takes your hands and pins them above your head.

In the back of your mind you register that this may be seen as strange behavior between two people who are essentially strangers, but you quell that voice and let yourself have some real fun since coming to this school.

She leans in until her lips are about an inch from your neck. You’ve stopped squirming, statue still under her body. Well, except for your slightly erratic breathing and an occasional large swallow. Her breath tickles your neck and sends goosebumps down your body.

“Carm, no,” you breathe unconvincingly.

“You would be no match for me,” she whispers against your skin. You attempt to suppress a shiver, but it ripples through you anyways, causing the girl on top of you to laugh faintly. “I could just eat you alive.”

Hearing about how she would eat you sends you over the top. You hit your head against the door in shock at her words, causing you to rebound and hit her head with your chin. She yelps in surprise and rears back, falling on her back onto the floor. However, she failed to release your hands during her tumble and now your positions are reversed.

Your legs are straddling her hips. Your arms situated above her head still trapped between her hands, leaving you two eye to eye, though hers are closed. She groans in annoyance and pain, but you wish she wouldn’t. Those noises are too obscene to be making in this position. She finally releases your hands and you sit up, trying to put some distance between the two of you, between your lips and hers.

She rubs her head with her hand, hissing in pain as her fingers press a bit too hard in a particularly sensitive area. You notice a throbbing in the back of your head, from when you hit the door, but your jaw feels perfectly fine. Her head must not be as hard as some people think.

“Next time you decide to do that, don’t,” she grumbles at you, eyes still closed.

“Sorry, next time, try not to bite people.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” She finally opens her eyes and smirks up at you. “If you wanted to be on top cutie, all you had to do was ask.”

You feel your face become hot. Carmilla’s smirk grows wider under your blush.

“Shut up.”

“Wow, no need to be so feisty.” Silence hangs between you two. You look anywhere but the girl under you. “Not that I don’t appreciate a pretty girl sitting on top of me, would you mind getting off? My legs are starting to fall asleep.”

You immediately scramble off of her. However, clumsy as you are, you catch your foot on one of her legs and crash to the floor next to her with a not so soft oof, your hip barely touching hers.

“Ouch,” you mutter into the floor face down. You hear her light snickering. “If I hear another peep out of you,” you warn.

“You’ll do what, pop-tart? Bite me?”

“Maybe I will.” You will not let this extremely hot, yet annoying, girl get the best of you.

“Oh ya?” she whispers into your ear. When did she roll over to you?

“Maybe,” you speak in a small voice. You mentally curse yourself for betraying your reluctance.

“Then prove it, creampuff.”

It would be so easy to knock your head against hers again. Being unconscious would make this situation so much better. It doesn’t even have to be you. An unconscious Carmilla is probably easier to deal with than a conscious one. You shake your head rapidly against the floor. Probably not the best idea.

“I’ll take that as a no then. I knew the great Laura Hollis didn’t have it in her.” Alright that’s it. You are sick of people thinking you are innocent and a pushover, first LaF, Danny, basically every teacher, and now Carmilla.

So you decide to do something you would never do in a million years: you roll over onto your side so you are face to face with Carmilla. Her eyes tinge with surprise at your sudden movement, but it doesn’t last long when you lean in. In any other situation, you would have laughed at how large her eyes widened. But then they flutter close.

You're not really sure why she doesn’t try to get away. If it were you, and a few moments ago it was, you would try to be getting away from the person who wants to bite you, but for some reason, Carmilla decided to girl the hell up and take it.

…Why is she leaning in…?

Your lips are already on the space between where her neck meets the top of her tee, around her collar bone, when it hits you. She is expecting you to kiss her.

However, it is too little too late to be dwelling on what could have been. You turn your attention to what you are doing now, which is nibbling into the Dean’s daughter’s collar bone.

Under your lips, her body is rigid. Not a disgusted rigid, more like a surprised rigid. At least you hope it’s surprise. You don’t want to imagine what the rest of this night would look like if she became totally disgusted with you.

You make the mistake of sucking slightly. You're not sure exactly why you did it, but you did. Maybe because you needed to swallow? A girl can only have so much saliva in her mouth before she needs to swallow.

Your sucking causes her to let out a soft moan. You pull back immediately in surprise. You’re half afraid that you hurt her in some way, half confused as to why she made that noise.

Her face is flushed, lips slightly parted, pupils dilated. Oh, you're such an idiot. No one makes a noise like…that unless they are…well…turned on… You are so incredibly naive.

Her glazed over eyes come back into focus. She looks at you slightly confused before she reaches to touch the skin you had your mouth on. You glance to the spot and notice a very light hickey forming on the skin. Your eyes flicker back to hers. Now you know for sure that she is blushing.

You sit up and scoot backwards. Probably best if you place a bit of distance between the two of you. She clears her throat nervously. Her eyes fixated on the ground.  She rolls onto her back, placing an arm over her eyes. You sit in awkward silence for a minute or so before…

“Told you I could do it,” you whisper somewhat smugly. She barks out a laugh in reply.

“You sure did it alright, cutie.” She doesn’t move.

Did she actually want you to kiss her? Not exactly the most important thing to be thinking about, but still…

“So,” you start in attempt to alleviate some of the tension, sexual and otherwise.

“So.”

“Umm,” you search for something, anything you can talk about, but it’s kinda hard when you can barely think a coherent thought. “You were running away.”

She lifts her arm above her eyes, confused.

“Before,” you blurt. You take a deep breath to gather your thoughts. “I was coming out of the bathroom and you ran into me and pulled me into this closet.” Carmilla opened her mouth to object. “I know, I know. You did it to save me from a horrible demise or at least from detention and a call home to my dad.” You shudder. “But it got us trapped here.”

“Yes cutie, I am well aware of what happened about forty minutes ago.”

“Ugh, never mind, you are insufferable.”

“I try,” she answers smugly. You sit in silence, refusing to break the silence. You glare at the ground because you know if you look at her, your resolve with crumble. She sighs first. “Quit pouting. It makes you looked like a kicked puppy.” That does it.

“Maybe I like being a puppy. Puppies are cute and fluffy and snuggly. Puppies don’t have to live up to expectations. Puppies don’t remember the sad stuff. They are happy all the time. They get excited over the small stuff. The only thing I have in common with a puppy is their identicalness with their moms,” you rant, tears prickling at the corner of your eyes. You bring your knees to your chest and rub the heels of your hands on your eyes.

_What’s gotten into you?! You're better at hiding!_

You feel a warm body slide up next to yours. You instantly lean in, seeking the warmth. An arm wraps around you.

“I’m not entirely sure what just happened,” Carmilla admits after a moment. You’re not sure either. You sniffle into her chest. She comfortingly pats and scratches your head.

“Sorry,” you quaver.

“Nothing to apologize for,” Carmilla whispers into your hair, as if speaking to a frightened animal. “Sometimes you just need to rant to a stranger.” She speaks with experience.

“You’re not so strange.”

She huffs out a laugh.

“You’d be the first to think so,” she replies darkly.

“Then I’ll be the first,” you conclude. She seems shock with your answer, tensing her arm around you, her breath faltering. It makes you smile sadly.

“You don’t know me,” she murmurs into your hair, repeating the statement for the second time.

“Then tell me,” you push gently.

She sighs in defeat. You know that you’ve worn her down, along with lack of sleep.

“Well, you already know that I am the daughter of the Dean. Not the only one, mind you, but the only one that’s around. She’s not a bad mom, per se, she just likes things done a certain way and she expects me to be perfect, something I’m not, all the time. I’m just tired of following her orders. That and she sent the only person that I cared about away. ‘For my wellbeing’ she said.” Carmilla scoffs in disbelief. “Ya right, Mother was just trying to protect her investment in me. Having a gay daughter doesn’t exactly look good in the eyes of the older, wealthier, investors. Flings don’t really matter to her. She can write those off as experimentation, but an actual relationship.” She shakes her head.

Now it’s your turn to comfort her. You lace your hand with hers, giving a gentle squeeze, which she returns. You have the urge to kiss her. Not her lips. But some other part of her, like her cheek or shoulder. Not for romance, but for comfort. However, you know that is a ridiculous notion, even in the middle of the night.

“That sucks.” You cringe at your response. She laughs, the vibrations making your skin tingle.

“Ya,” she says lightly, laughter still tinging her voice. She pauses. “It does,” she whispers, voice now sad, almost wistful.

“I understand.” She pulls away from you. You instantly miss the warmth. You look into her eyes to see a confused, disbelieving look. “On some level,” you clarify. Her look doesn’t go away. “I understand the need to live up to something, or live down something.”

Again, the look doesn’t go away. You groan in frustration, looking towards the ceiling as if the answers will come from there. It’s not her fault she doesn’t get it. But you don’t exactly want to talk about it. You haven’t even talked about it in detail with LaF. You look back to Carmilla. Her eyes are softer now, encouraging you to continue your story.

You bury your face into her neck. Not looking into her eyes, or at her face, will make story time easier. To your surprise and pleasure, she draws you in closer.

“As an only child, I understand when parents’ expectations don’t meet with your own. My dad expects so much from me. Most of it is easy to live up to, like getting good grades or being involved in clubs, but not all of it is easy…” you trail off, lost in thought. You clear your throat and continue. “But I can’t give him what he wants most.”

“Which is?” Carmilla prompts when you don’t respond after a minute.

“A way to forget Mom,” you spit out. Carmilla pets your head again to calm you down. You shuffle around a bit to rest your head on her shoulder instead her chest. “That’s not entirely true, but it feels like it. Ever since she died, he can't look at me. It used to be a _good_ thing that I looked like her, a compliment. But now it haunts me… me and my dad. When people say I look just like her, it’s with pity instead of pride. And you know what the worst part is?” you pause and wait for her to respond, if she is even listening any more.

“What’s the worst part?” Carmilla whispers close to your ear.

“Maybe _I_ want to forget her. Sometimes I feel like I do. It’s just easier to not remember, to not feel the pain. To not live with the fact that I killed her,” your voice is bitter. You try not to sound like that. You’ve perfected your daytime self to appear perfect, carefree, lighthearted. When in reality, you carry this burden.

For a moment, you are alone, back in your room at home. A pair of scissors sits in your open bedside table drawer. You feel yourself reach for it, fingertips dancing along the cold metal, bringing the illusion of freedom. Luckily you are pulled from this nightmare of a fantasy by a pair of arms gently shaking you.

“Hey, Laura, cutie, I don’t know the story, but I’m sure that her death was in no way her fault.”

You focus in on her face, her eyes. You realize that during your lapse in reality, Carmilla pulled you away from her, so you're face to face, sitting across from rather than next to each other. She looks worried, almost scared. Maybe she saw what you saw for a brief moment. You try to reassure her with a smile, but you know it comes out as a grimace. So instead you stroke the side of her face with a gentle brush of your fingertips, like you did with the scissors. Unlike the scissors, she is warm and soft to the touch.

“I asked her to go out and get a book for me for school.” You're surprised at the calmness of your voice. “I needed it the next day. I don’t know why I failed to tell her earlier, forgetfulness I guess.” Your hand drops into your lap, where Carmilla laces it with hers.

“It had been overcast all day, threatening to rain. She told me to do my homework while she ran into town to find that book. I easily agreed thinking nothing of it or the weather.” You pause to take in a shaky breath. The gentle touch of Carmilla’s thumb running over your fingers reassures you to continue.

“Rain started coming down in buckets not more than five minutes after she left. Like the sky waited all day for my m-mom to leave the house. A half hour ticked by, then an hour, then two. Sometime during doing my homework and waiting for Mo-… her to come home, the power went out. It wasn’t too bad. I watched Doctor Who on my computer.”

“After being home alone for a couple of hours, Dad came charging through the front door. He demanded why I wasn’t answering the phone. I told him the power was out and that he hasn’t gotten me the cellphone he promised me for my birthday. He gripped me tight on my shoulders, so much so that it started to hurt, but the look in his eyes, the haunting look, told me not to complain, that something was wrong.”

Carmilla brings her free hand to your face, whipping away tears you didn’t know were coming. Her eyes look at you with sadness and understanding. You stare back, trying to keep a poker face in lieu of you crying.

“The book was on the floor on the passenger’s side, ink smeared from the water that poured through the broken windshield.”

“It’s not your fault Laura,” Carmilla speaks for the first time since you started. You scoff. “It’s not,” she repeats earnestly. “Shit happens and there’s no one to blame. I’m sorry you had to live through that and that you're still living through it. I'm not saying to forget that it happened or forget her, because when you try so hard to forget something, it tends to haunt you for a while-”

“Is there a ‘but’ anytime soon,” you playfully ask, hoping to alieve some pressure. She cracks a smile, letting you know it worked.

“BUT live with the fact she was just being a good mom. And don’t live in the past with this hanging over you. I’m guessing you have people who care about you, your dad, your roommate, LaF…me.” You smile warmly at the declaration. “You don’t need to be alone anymore.”

“I won't be…”

You lean forward, her hand still cupping your cheek. Her eyes drift between yours and your lips. Your eyes do the same. You’re about two inches apart when she speaks up.

“You sure you want to do this, cupcake?” You're a bit hurt. You’ve never seen her ask. Maybe she is hoping you back out. Maybe she doesn’t want to do it. She must see the dejectedness in your eyes because she quickly reassures you. “Not that I don’t want to do it!! It’s just… I want to make sure this is what you want. And,” she pauses uncertainly, eyes on the ground, “I don’t want this to be a onetime thing. I want something with you. You're different than the others,” she finishes earnestly

“I want this, whatever this is. I don’t want it just tonight. I don’t want it just know. I want this today. I want this tomorrow. And we’ll see where we go from there.”

Her eyes dart back to yours in joy, before clouding over in confusion, eyebrows scrunching together. You frown slightly at her change in mood.

“Why?” Carmilla asks. “Why me? Why now? A few hours ago, you didn’t know me.”

“You didn’t know me either,” you point out. She gives you a guilty look.

“That’s not entirely true.” Now it is your turn to be confused. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but like I said, I’ve noticed you.” She offers a sheepish, nervous smile.

“Now I know you're a vampire. Do you sparkle too?”

“Shut up.” She playfully nudges her nose against yours, causing your breath to hitch and send shivers down your spine. “I’m not talking about the Twilight creep. I haven’t watched you sleep and I haven’t followed you around.” You smile at her attempt to convince you. It is rather cute. “I’ve just noticed you around like in class, or in the library, or in the cafeteria, or on the school grounds studying. God, you don’t know how badly I’ve wanted to join you and just be with you.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“I know what my reputation is like, and I know what my mother will do if she suspects me growing close with a girl. Making out with one is fine. No feelings involved. But actually becoming friends with one,” she tucks a loose strand behind your ear, “and possibly more… Mother wouldn’t like that.”

“What’s changed?” you whisper, growing slightly closer to her lips, an inch away now.

“You,” Carmilla states simply. “I don’t want to miss an opportunity because I was scared. Plus I’m pretty good at hiding things now.” You can feel her wicked grin almost against your mouth.

“Well, we _are_ in a closet,” you joke, smiling lightly.

“That’s true,” she whispers against your lips. Your smile falls as you gasp. Even though her lips only touched yours for a brief moment, it was still amazing. You could try to think of better words to describe its awesomeness, but your mind is too fuzzy to think. “You never answered my question.”

“What was that?” Your mind draws a blank.

“Why do you want me?”

“Because you make me feel things that I haven’t before, at least not in a long time. Like I'm worth something to someone. Like I don’t have to live up to expectations. Like I don’t have to be anything around you. I can just be me.”

“I feel the same.”

“Good, now shut up and kiss me.”

And she does. The floor is cold, but you’ve never felt warmer with Carmilla’s mouth on yours. Her lips are as soft as they look. Her smell is intoxicating, pulling you in. A hand threads in your hair, pulling you closer until you're straddling her. Your loose grip semi-hand-holding becomes firmer as your joint hands settle on your upper thigh. Your free hand traces the curve of her waist- from the side of her chest to her waist- keeping your touch feather light.

While kissing her is amazing and your brain is mostly fuzzy, a faint thought nags in the back of your mind, on a question she has yet to answer. As much as you want to keep kissing her, your curiosity cannot be assuaged.

“Carm,” you mumble on her lips.

“Hmm?” she hums into your mouth making your breath hitch again.

“Can we… can you… I need to… ask… something,” you manage to get out in between kisses.

“Can it wait?” she groans on your lips.

“No.” With that she pulls back, looking a bit frustrated. You giggle at her pout, which only causes her to pout more. You link your hands behind her head, pulling gently on the hair there. She practically purrs at your menstruations.

“Forget vampire, you're practically cat.”

“What is it that you want to ask me?” she asks impatiently.

“Why are you up past bedtime? What did you do? Why were you running from the walking wrinkle that is Ms. Schlink?” She barks out a laugh at your description of one of the scariest teachers on campus.

“That’s why you stopped?” Carmilla asked in disbelief.

“Well, ya,” you answer honestly. “It’s been bugging me and I can't properly enjoy myself with this on my mind.

“I can help you forget,” Carmilla says smugly.

“You are infuriating.”

“Isn't that what draws you to me?” You don’t know what’s worse, her not telling you or her reading you like one of those books she loves so much,

You glare at her in silence, not giving her the satisfaction of an answer. When she leans in to kiss you again, you pull back slightly, a teasing smile on your face. She looks at you in disbelief like the thought of any one rejecting her for any reason was unthinkable.

“Not until you explain.”

“It’s really not that big of a deal,” she says trying to convince you.

“Then it won’t be a big deal if you told me,” you point out.

“Ugh, you're so stubborn sometimes.”

“Ya, but it’s kinda something you like about me, isn't it?” you say as you scratch the base of her neck. She purrs happily again before growling.

“Fine, you win… just keep doing that,” she requests, a faint blush spreading across her face. You smile in success. “I filled my mom’s office with rubber ducks.”

“You did what?”

“Did I stutter, cutie?”

“No, but you don’t mean filled filled do you?” you ask with comically wide eyes.

“I wouldn’t say filled unless I mean filled.”

“Like to the brim?” you clarify.

“Yes like to the brim.” She’s starting to get impatient. “All the way to the top.”

“How?”

“Well, you know the window at the top of the door?” You nod in amazement. “I grabbed a ladder that was left in the hallway to fix a lightbulb or something and poured bags of rubber ducks through the window.”

You open your mouth, but you can't decide on a question for a few moments. Your mouth hangs open for a few seconds. Carmilla looks at you with amusement.

“Close your mouth cutie; you might catch flies, or my tongue.” She winks. You slap her arm. She doesn’t even bother to look remorseful, just her smirk.

“How did you get all those rubber duckies?” you ask, bringing the focus back to the topic at hand.

“I know a guy.”

“You're not even going to tell me?” you pout.

“Gotta keep my air of mystery, remember?”

“You're going to drive me crazy.” You blush at the realization of what you said. Carmilla smiles slightly at the indication that this will be a regular thing.

“I think I’d like that very much.”

“I’m going to pretend that you didn’t just insinuate that you are going to drive me crazy every chance you get.”

“Interpret what I say however you will,” she shrugs. You roll you're eyes for what feels like the hundredth time. You have a feeling that you're going to roll your eyes a lot with her around.

“Do you think she’ll know it’s you?”

“Probably, but she’s got no proof and she won't want to insinuate me. Doesn’t look good for her.” You hum in response.

You run your fingers through her hair. It’s silky soft. She purrs once again. You let out a small laugh.

“Shut up,” she grumbles, but leans into your hands. Her lips ghosts along yours for a moment before you capture her lips. Her hands dip under your shirt for a brief moment before the door opens.

“Hey L, I’m here. Are you… Well, it looks like you're more than ok.” Your lovely roommate has the worst possible timing.

You quickly scramble off Carmilla and stand in front of LaF. She gives you a sly look which you return with a sheepish smile.

“Glad I could be here to rescue you from the hell that is the janitor’s closet,” LaF sasses.

“Thanks LaF, Carm and I were just… umm… getting to know each other better?” you attempt.

“More like getting to know each other’s mouths better.” LaF loves this. They seem positively giddy.

Carmilla picks herself off the ground and stands next to you.

“Thanks for getting us out.” She holds her hand out to shake theirs. They shake hands for longer than necessary. LaF’s smile splitting their face. Carmilla’s face remains stoic.

“No problem. Any friend of Laura’s is a friend of mine. Though I have a girlfriend so I don’t need the _special_ treatment you're giving Laura.” LaF grips her hand harder in warning.

“Don’t worry LaFonbrain, Laura’s the only ‘friend’ I plan on giving ‘special treatment’,” Carmilla clarifies. You just stare on somewhat confused, but happy overall.

“Great.” They release Carmilla’s hand and turn to you. “I’ll see you back at the room L. Don’t be too long.” They wink and walk away.

Carmilla catches the door before it closes again.

“Don’t want to get stuck in here again, do we?” Carmilla jokes. You drag your hand down her arm as you walk past her out the door.

“I don’t know. I had fun.” You smirk at her slightly stunned face.

You walk down the hallway towards your room. You hear her jogging to catch up with you. She sets her strides to yours once she catches up and you walk the rest of the way to your room in silence.

You stop outside your door and face her. Her eyes sparkle like the constellations.

“So, I better get to bed,” you state awkwardly.

“Ya, you do that.”

Ugh, only a few minutes ago, your tongue was all but down her throat. Now you can barely say a sentence to her.

You nod and turn to your door. You place your hand on the doorknob and start to turn it.

“Hey Laura,” Carmilla says.  You turn back to her.

She quickly brings her hand to your cheek and presses a kiss onto your lips. She lingers there for a few seconds. She pulls away far too quickly for your liking. Your lips tingle after she pulls away. She brushes your lips with the pad of her thumb which only amplifies the tingling sensation.

“Goodnight,” she says softly, her smile just as soft as her voice.

“Night,” you giggle. You feel like you're floating.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Carmilla promises as she starts to walk backwards, fingers dragging along your skin. You smile as you watch her go. She returns the smile and turns around to walk back up the hallway and around the corner. You watch her until she’s gone.

You bring your fingers to your lips, where hers were only moments ago. You know you won't be able to sleep, not with the imprint of her lips on yours on your mind. But you can't wait to see her again.

“Tomorrow,” you promise.

**Author's Note:**

> So, like I said, I've been working on this story for a while now, around three months. It went in a different way then previously expected. It may seem rushed, but when you share a small space with a person for a couple hours, things get intimate.


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